Everyday I come back home and type into a translator about 405 words that I didn't understand throughout the day. Most days it's normal things. "Bosser," "Chaleur," "Romarin," "la guele" . . .
other days, things get more interesting. I realized a while ago that it wasn't because I was retarded that I couldn't understand a lot of what my coworkers were saying -- it was because they speak a completely different language. No, they don't speak French. They speak French slang, which is completely. different. I ask myself quite often why one bothers to learn classic French if no one is going to speak it? I've yet to come up with an answer.
Today a platter of quiches didn't cook all the way, and the crusts stuck to their tins.
Lou & Pascal were examining them and kept saying "Ça coule, hein?" They kept agreeing with each other and saying the same thing basically. (The French like to do that. I.e. "Ça va? Oui! Ça va bien, t'as passé une bonne journée hier? Mais si, et toi? Oui! Ça a été!")
Lou: C'est toi qui a fait? --> Is it you who made them?
Pascal: Mais non, c'était Adrien. ---> No, it was Adrien.
Lou: Oh, Adrien. . . (she laughs) Adrien, tes poireaux coulent! --> Adrien, your leeks are dripping/runny. (the quiches had leeks in them)
They both start laughing hysterically.
I mean they start laughing until Lou turned red.
I sat there watching them really confused, but I knew it was a sexual innuendo of some sort because as they were laughing, more people came and asked what was so funny. Eventually Adrien walked in and Lou screamed, "tes poireaux coulent, Adrien, regards!" He looks at her with surprise and says something like "C'est la nourriture qu'on dit, j'espere." (It's food we're talking about, I hope.)
I later ask Pascal what the heck they were laughing at and all he could say was "je ne peux pas te dire." (I can't tell you...)
This is what I found: http://www.whytraveltofrance.com/2006/11/29/205-ways-to-say-penis-in-french/
This is what I get for learning French from the locals.
Showing posts with label French. Show all posts
Showing posts with label French. Show all posts
7.29.2010
9.26.2009
Lost in Translation
Excerpt from journal entry, day of French oral testing:
"Once we arrived at the ILCF center, the hall was crowded and loud. Utter mayhem. I waited in line for a while (or what seemed to be a line) and decided to advance to see what was going on. Apparently we had to have a schedule printed out from the day before, so, since I had one, albeit a completely incorrect one, I stepped forward to Annamaria, with stress written all over her face. Before I had a chance to speak to her, I was met with a rather intimidating French professor. She wore all black and had a permanent scowl in the wrinkles on her face. She asked who was ready and Annamaria pushed me forward. Wide-eyed and startled, I tried to mutter some words, but nothing came out and I just followed like a child lost at Disneyland. She sat at a table with me and began to talk at literally, no, literally, the speed of light. I was petrified, all my confidence wilted as I sat before Goliath, and me, a little David whose balls have yet to drop. I tried to understand all 3,000 words a minute, but probably managed to get only 50. She told me she was new at this and that she was sorry. She asked me if the printed schedule was one that I wanted, I said no. She said, well then, what do you want to change then? I said, "Everything." She gave me a flustered look of consternation. I was in foreign language HELL. There were some sounds that came out of my mouth that I didn't even know I could make that day. She ran back and forth between Annamaria and I to get things sorted out, and finally she figured it out. She said that the only thing she needed to do with me is to evaluate my level of French by having a short conversation with me. I thought in my head, "I could have told you that. Well. Not really. But, I knew that." Once we started the "official" conversation, my nerves hadn't calmed and I probably sounded like a retard. I wanted to dazzle her with my perfect -- exceptional, even --English. How vast my vocabulary was! How fairly competent I am! I swear! But no, I was stuck with my shoddy, misconjugated, badly pronounced, stilted French. Merde. She asked me simple questions. Where are you from? Why did you decide to pursue studies in French? How long have you been studying? Are you more proficient in oral or written French? Written, obviously, because I sound like a neanderthal right now. She suggested that although I tested into Intermediate 2, that I be bumped into Intermediate 1 because it was more than likely going to be too difficult for me. Yeah, you think? I cried inside. A cry of failure that the tortured academic asian baby within only cries."
"Once we arrived at the ILCF center, the hall was crowded and loud. Utter mayhem. I waited in line for a while (or what seemed to be a line) and decided to advance to see what was going on. Apparently we had to have a schedule printed out from the day before, so, since I had one, albeit a completely incorrect one, I stepped forward to Annamaria, with stress written all over her face. Before I had a chance to speak to her, I was met with a rather intimidating French professor. She wore all black and had a permanent scowl in the wrinkles on her face. She asked who was ready and Annamaria pushed me forward. Wide-eyed and startled, I tried to mutter some words, but nothing came out and I just followed like a child lost at Disneyland. She sat at a table with me and began to talk at literally, no, literally, the speed of light. I was petrified, all my confidence wilted as I sat before Goliath, and me, a little David whose balls have yet to drop. I tried to understand all 3,000 words a minute, but probably managed to get only 50. She told me she was new at this and that she was sorry. She asked me if the printed schedule was one that I wanted, I said no. She said, well then, what do you want to change then? I said, "Everything." She gave me a flustered look of consternation. I was in foreign language HELL. There were some sounds that came out of my mouth that I didn't even know I could make that day. She ran back and forth between Annamaria and I to get things sorted out, and finally she figured it out. She said that the only thing she needed to do with me is to evaluate my level of French by having a short conversation with me. I thought in my head, "I could have told you that. Well. Not really. But, I knew that." Once we started the "official" conversation, my nerves hadn't calmed and I probably sounded like a retard. I wanted to dazzle her with my perfect -- exceptional, even --English. How vast my vocabulary was! How fairly competent I am! I swear! But no, I was stuck with my shoddy, misconjugated, badly pronounced, stilted French. Merde. She asked me simple questions. Where are you from? Why did you decide to pursue studies in French? How long have you been studying? Are you more proficient in oral or written French? Written, obviously, because I sound like a neanderthal right now. She suggested that although I tested into Intermediate 2, that I be bumped into Intermediate 1 because it was more than likely going to be too difficult for me. Yeah, you think? I cried inside. A cry of failure that the tortured academic asian baby within only cries."
8.27.2009
Culture
To understand French culture, one needs to speak the language.
That's right, swearing.
So the next time you find yourself at a swanky francophone soiree,
feel free to show 'em how "French" you are.
"merde" (may-rr-d) --> shit
"putain" (poo-tahn) --> whore
"fils d'une putain" (feez d'oon poo-tahn) --> son of a whore/b*tch
"con" (cohn) --> c*nt
"cul" (coo-l) --> ass
"bite" (beet) --> dick
"nichons" (nee-shon)--> boobs
"couilles" (koo-il)--> balls
"chien" (shee-an) --> b*tch
http://www.stim.com/Stim-x/9.1/curses/curses.html
Of course, always use with discretion. ;)
That's right, swearing.
So the next time you find yourself at a swanky francophone soiree,
feel free to show 'em how "French" you are.
"merde" (may-rr-d) --> shit
"putain" (poo-tahn) --> whore
"fils d'une putain" (feez d'oon poo-tahn) --> son of a whore/b*tch
"con" (cohn) --> c*nt
"cul" (coo-l) --> ass
"bite" (beet) --> dick
"nichons" (nee-shon)--> boobs
"couilles" (koo-il)--> balls
"chien" (shee-an) --> b*tch
http://www.stim.com/Stim-x/9.1/curses/curses.html
Of course, always use with discretion. ;)
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